


A Moment's Peace. (Sketch in Pencil by Kitagawa Y.)

by Archeste



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/M, Humor, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archeste/pseuds/Archeste
Summary: Inspiration is a rare and precious gift to an artist. One to be siezed at any oportunity!Yusuke Kitagawa is painfully aware of this.You'd think after the all time they'd spent together his friends would be as well.Sadly, they still seem to have a few problems with that fact...
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Togo Hifumi, Kurusu Akira/Togo Hifumi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	A Moment's Peace. (Sketch in Pencil by Kitagawa Y.)

Inspiration can be a fleeting thing. 

A glint of light off a lake, a gust of wind through the leaves, a waft of perfume in the spring air.

A moment of fire igniting the heart, flowing from artist to canvas, to be frozen in pigment. Hoping to spread that spark to those who view it. To set more hearts ablaze. A true artist knows how fleeting and rare such moments can be, and how they must be captured, immediately, without hesitation or be lost! For it is unlikely they will return, even if the moment is recreated to the smallest detail.

Some artists try, posing models, taking pictures in a vain effort to…

* * *

“Yusuke. Give me your phone.”

“I beg your pardon, Leader?”

“Phone. NOW!”

“I was merely trying to explain…”

“If I find ONE picture of Hifumi on that phone...”

“You misunderstand me, I am merely trying to explain what some artists do to try and capture inspiration.”

“I don’t CARE what some artists do. I am concerned with what ONE artist has done and whether I need to borrow Haru’s axe.”

* * *

Of course there are always some people who don’t appreciate the urgency of inspiration. It is understandable, to an extent.

For the muse it is not merely an observed moment, it is their life. Both the good and the bad can inspire art and the low points of their lives are rarely things that people want preserved. Particularly when fresh and raw. The memories will ache enough. For some a canvas depicting their sorrows, however edifying to the world at large, adds salt to a wound.

Sadly, some are so caught up in their own passions that those of the artist are unwelcome...

* * *

“Remember what happened that time in the park?”

“The man seemed quite receptive!”

“The guy just got dumped. Asking him to call her back so you could finish your sketch was just rude!”

“Art requires sacrifice!”

“Typically of time and effort, not teeth. Yusuke, he threatened to feed you your sketchbook.”

* * *

Strangely, people are just as protective of the high points of their lives. True happiness, joy, is a feeling so rarely felt that people feel the need to hoard it, even if that light could brighten a thousand lives. Some moments, fleeting and pure are lost in a heartbeat. Drops of rain catching the light, brighter than any gem until lost upon the ground.

Is it not the artist's duty to try and preserve them? To try and hold the memory of that sparkle on paper or canvas, to…

* * *

“No.”

“But…!”

“Yusuke. It is too early for this shit. No.”

"But...!"

"I swear to god, if this causes problems inspiration is going to the be the last thing on your mind..."

* * *

But surely the final result, the captured moment, recorded on canvas is worth the effort. Without it what would have been lost to the ages! Which tales and stories would have been cast to the winds of time. The very form of the art can be a spark, changing a pinprick of light to a heavenly body…

* * *

“Draw all the other stars you want, but that particular one is MINE, and all heavenly bodies involved are off limits.”

“You seem oddly upset.”

“GOD DAMMIT YUSUKE!”

* * *

So what is an artist to do when, driven from bed early and seeking sustenance, he comes upon a scene such as this?

Two faces, seen before but never quite this way. A subtle tension lost, a tiny but perceptible distance missing. 

Two at peace together that rarely, if ever, were alone. 

She, hidden behind an idol’s face so long it has bled into her nature. Detached, demure and distant. Always and never smiling, lips never quite matching her eyes.

Until he is in reach, at least. He may call her his Star, but the warmth of the smile she gives to him is worthy of the sun.

But in repose, here, a tiny smile on sleeping lips that so rarely wore a true one while waking. Hair scattered, cactching the morning light in a manner it's usual neatly brushed form would never allow.

Resting, contented, in the arms of one taken from her grasp three times now, with a subtle air to the scene that states it will never be permitted to happen again.

Having grown so used to her manufactured beauty that this shy glimpse behind it shined all the more bright for the comparison, the true venus far more beautiful than the mask she wears.

And the other...

He with a guard so unshakable that others had rebuilt their lives behind its defenses. Who wore so many faces that his true one is almost as strange now as any one of the masks it once wore. Save to her to whom he shows it gladly. 

Now finally at rest. Tousled black resting against brown silk. A subtle tension, always present, now missing from his back. His arms cradling one, both prize and comfort, making all past struggles worthwhile, all sacrifices lighter and all dreams the sweeter.

Bodies entwined…

* * *

“For the last time, Yusuke, if you don’t shut up and go home I’m going to jam that paint brush so far up your ass that you’ll be tasting turpentine for a week.”

“But...!”

“Seriously dude, you sound like you’re writing porn for chicks.”

Both heads turn sideways in shock. The new voice's owner is perched on a stool next to them, eating a meat bun from a convenience store and regarding their surprise with a raised eyebrow.

“What? I get up early sometimes.”

“What the hell Ryuji?!”

“WHAT? Door was open! Yusuke is allowed in but not me?”

“Yusuke wasn’t ALLOWED in either. Yusuke LET himself in. I am in the process of THROWING Yusuke out. YUSUKE IS A PAIN IN THE ASS!”

"That was uncalled for."

"WAS IT?!"

“Man, did he eat all the curry again?”

“No he…Intruded. Like you currently are. Can't both of you just give me just one damn day off?!”

“Dude, you’re really grumpy this morning. Didn’t you get enough sleep?”

“I believe he was otherwise engaged last night.”

“GOD DAMMIT YUSUKE!”

* * *

This is why moments must be captured when they occur. Tiny things, however perfectly balanced, can only strain against the forces pulling them apart for so long. The new scene, however inspiring in it’s own way, is never the same and the first peaceful moments are scattered to the energy and light of… 

* * *

“NO! ENOUGH! Yusuke, Ryuji. OUT!”

“Dude, fine! Don't blow a fuse! Was just here to grab my manga anyway.” Ryuji slides down from his chair.

“I am sorry as well.. I understand my attachment to art can be...obstructive on occasion. I meant no offence to either you or your lady.”

“Seriously Yusuke, I appreciate your passion, but you NEED to realise some things are personal, and PRIVATE.”

“So it seems. I clearly have much to learn. You have my deepest apologies. Might I ask one more question?”

“If it is about modelling…”

“It is not… Should you not have warned Miss Togo before Ryuji went upstairs for his book?”

“WHAT?!”

**“KYAAAAAAAA!”**

A shriek and a hail of objects chase a unwelcome visitor from the stairs. Eyes very large as he faces his friends.

“DUDE! There is a super hot chick taking her clothes off in your room!”

“I believe Miss Togo is putting her clothes ON, Ryuji. She was already disrobed when I arrived.”

There is a thump as Joker's head hits the counter.

Finally the scene is set, and understanding dawns.

“What the EFF, Yusuke? No wonder he’s pissed at you! I'M PISSED AT YOU!”

“Look at this sketch and tell me the moment should not have been captured!”

"You DREW IT?! DUDE!"

The book is snatched before its model can intercept it.

"To be fair, RenRen, that is ADORABLE as hell. Can I show the girls? they'd melt!"

“Put that damn sketchbook down before I feed it to you!”

“Why the hell am I getting phone calls complaining about shouting? Why are you two here?” 

Their audience has grown by three. Sojiro has come at the behest of his neighbours, to investigate raised voices this morning... and certain OTHER noises last night that were not appreciated.

The Master of the cafe has his own thoughts about those, and where his neighbours can stick their complaints but has been forced to investigate now by the sheer volume of calls.

His adopted daughter is making an apologetic face from behind his back for failing to impede him, its impact somwhat lessened by the laughter in her eyes.

The last of the trio is snagged by his collar on his way upstairs by an angry Joker. A look in his eyes that promise a visit to the vet if he attempts it again.

Such is the ways of art, scenes shifting and changing as the actors dance. No two views ever quite the same.

Inspiration can be anywhere, in the glint of light of the glasses of a respected figure. Held just so by the raised eyebrows facing the scene.

In a look of Defeat in the face of one who has never before accepted it. He who has faced all with confidence seeing options now closed and escape paths sealed. Caring not for his own sake, but that of she he seeks to shield from undue attention.

In the confusion on the faces of a trio of girls, calling in to visit their teammates and finding themselves audience to a play in progress, whether it is tragedy or comedy yet to be seen.

In the poise of a queen, walking down from the stairs, costume now adjusted, to place a single kiss on her champions cheek. Whispering to him encouragement before casting a sharp look to the artist at the counter, giving a stiff bow to the assembled and walking victorious out the door past confused faces, with her cheeks aflame.

Her dignity maintained, at least so far as the corner which obscures her from view.

Sadly leaving before his sketch can be completed, such are the trials of an artist.

Inspiration can come from many things.

For example, from the black terror in the eyes of friends looking over his shoulder. He turned to look to where a friend once stood and found instead the slayer of a god. His anger no longer held in check. Directed solely at one not used to facing it.

Some moments must be captured! He turns the page on his sketchbook.

“Dude, are you NUTS?! Eff that! Drop the pencil and RUN!”

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break for a quick one-shot. Hopefully it will let me sort out the larger piece I've rewritten FIFTEEN TIMES....
> 
> @_@
> 
> Have fun folks.


End file.
